


Mutie's Huxloween Extravaganza

by ArmieJude



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Bondage, Huxloween, Implied Abduction, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, implied gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 00:21:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12265071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArmieJude/pseuds/ArmieJude
Summary: Basically a place to store all of my Huxloween 2017 prompts! Tags will be added as I go, and enjoy the spooky~





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Day 4: Hall of Mirrors
> 
> I know I'm posting these out of order, but shhhhhh, that's a secret. Tags for: Implied Abduction, Bondage, Non-Con, NSFW content
> 
> For my partner in crime @42dicks on Tumblr

Hux sits in front of a set of mirrors, in an ornate parlor, observing himself. His vague understanding of architecture assures him that this had once been a dance hall, some well-to-do child’s playground of societal expectations. What a sight he’d be to those guests, nude, thin layers of gooseflesh tugging his skin upward. He’s gotten leaner, his cheekbones protrude from his face. How many pounds lost could not be determined here, nor could the hour. Months? Years? An eternal dusk slips over these rafters. Kylo assured him he hadn’t been here long. Kylo assured him a lot of things, many of them flagrantly untrue.

He has tried the door. It’s locked. Of course. Always another lock, another key, another cage disguised as a castle. An engraved doorknob couldn’t detract from the fact that it needed a key, a key he didn’t have.

“Did you wait long?” Kylo always asks that as if he had a choice in waiting. A poor joke that Hux could only disagree to, wordless confirmation of what this hulking mass of treacherous sympathy knew to be correct. This morning it’s the dress shoes; one of those days. Clicking heels, a too-trustful smile. Hux’s heart lurches in distress. One of these days.

His hands, tied behind his back, are knotted so tight he can’t wiggle free from them. For rope, they’re cheaper enough to fray yet he’d not found a method to pull them apart, not yet. 

Kylo kissed like a teenage boy, like he’s going to lose his final gasp of air in some romantic tragedy. Tongue too clumsy to loop in his, his eagerness slick with minty toothpaste and remnants of milk. Suffocating him. Canine teeth delving into the crevices of his own mouth. He bites down. Hux can’t stand this, or him, or himself, or the mirror Hux’s sultry gasps for breath in response. Anything to get Kylo away.

Kylo purrs in laughter. His bourbon and whiskey laugh, rough with dangerous promise. “Poor thing. I forgot you like to fight.” A poor thing, yes. Spread on his belly, legs sprawling outward on the tile. Hux and not-quite-Hux glowering at one another. He’s used to this, being on his knees. A spool of bloody saliva runs down his exposed throat. 

Two thick, clumsy fingers prod deep inside him; he knows what they’re searching for, knows precisely when a rounded index finger stabs into his prostate. Oh god. Kylo’s knees against his ankles, leaning against his ear, whispering sweetly. “As much as you bite, you’re so soft, Hux, you really are. So pretty.” God. 

Him, the other him, turns an ankle outward, exposing himself. Fully hard cock rubbing the other Hux’s belly, weeping transparent tears down his stomach. Not him, not truly him. Another version, somewhere else. Armitage Hux wouldn’t lean into a captor’s probing knuckles, wouldn’t mewl at monstrous hands petting the insides of his thighs, his hips. Armitage Hux wouldn’t be here.

“Don’t you cry, princess. I know,” Kylo says, as if he really actually understood when he never truly could, “I’m here. I know you missed me. I’m not going to leave you.” Hux knew he wouldn’t, Kylo didn’t leave anyone. Ever. They slept in fresh graves in the garden should they dare to leave. His hands flexed out for something, anything, wrists rubbed raw. Everything’s raw, throbbing, painful. “You’re seeing yourself how I see you. It’s scary. But I wanted to show you.” Hux didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to see it. It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be him.

But Kylo turns him to face himself again. He had to. “Watch. Watch yourself.” He feels the pressure before Kylo eases in, the too-heavy length of it curling his mirror’s toes so hard he saw the digits. Kylo’s sloping face untensed in a happy ecstasy he didn’t understand. It had been days since their last game. Kylo drew out encounters, waiting for his walls to crumble before returning again, same smile, same dimples. “Fuck,” someone calls out, the stranger that wasn’t quite Hux, “don’t… look at me.” 

The pace is too fast, his expression too sordid, nothing to soothe the same weepy heat that bubbled in his stomach. Whoever that man is, he’s shuddering, crying out for attention like a baby for its mother, and Kylo won’t stop to let Hux ask them what’s wrong. “See, don’t you see? I had to have you, just like this. Right on the edge. I had to keep you.” And he’s nodding again, unsure what he’s answering too or just how far deep in the garden he’ll be in for his sympathy.

“I love you, princess. My princess Hux. So good to me.” 

Hux, in his castle of a cage, gives into the leash for a moment, an endless second where he’s shuddering for air that Kylo stole from him in every kiss he took. And that similar man in the mirror watched him too, not an ounce of shame in him to avert his eyes when cum splatters against the floor. Babbling on and on, pronouncing words that didn’t exist in an insistent call for someone, anyone to save him from soft touches and tender little gestures he couldn’t handle. Everything’s wet, inside of him and outside. 

Kylo’s behind him, answering him. He always answers too, the same way. “Shhh. It’s okay. It’s okay. I know.” Kylo couldn’t know but he did. He does. Hux lets him know for a little while, in his dress shoes and his pressed slacks. “Weren’t you beautiful?”

Yes. Yes he was.


	2. Day 1: Unsolved Mysteries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, it's the one I was supposed to do first;;; I have absolutely no idea what this style is doing, but have at it, kids. Tags: implied/mentions of gore
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr if you'd like: @armiejude

There’s a very specific sort of misery, Hux concludes to himself, in navigating wet grass without being able to judge where to put his feet. Bare feet dancing over muddy earth, ghosting over knotted weeds while he sprints forward. 

Well, not dancing, not in his thick pajama pants and a sweat-slick black t-shirt. Three affirmative clangs echo across the quad; 1:30 AM, the bell rang on the half hour.

Mud squelched between his toes, disgusting, oozing beneath his nails. He runs nonetheless, chasing him. Kylo. A looming, gawky problem child, combat boots hanging off of the dormitory balcony as he leapt off of it. What a prick. What an absolute inconsiderate waste. 

 

Hux needs to know where precisely he is. For vitriolic reasons.

 

His vision’s not so keen without glasses, but the fuzzy afterimage of a ratty black hoodie stalks forward impossibly fast. To where? Why? Lungs pounding, heart squeezing, too tight to focus on more than a singular goal. 

 

Treeline looms ahead. The edge of campus, seamless in its fade into woods. Ren spent hours nearby, just reading. Time’s speeding like beads of sweat rolling down his nose’s apex. ‘Stay the fuck away from me, Hux, or I’ll kill you. You’ll regret it.’ Snarling timbre and his clenched jaw. He’s a foolish dog, that boy.

 

Adrenaline runs sickly sweet down his throat, pads of his toes screaming for relief as he pants to a stop. He’s not alone, he hears the breath, just there, outside of the shells of fallen leaves. Deep rumbling laps at his heart, increasing in volume. Growling. It’s growling. Behind a tree, its rattling bark rubbing the back of Hux’s neck. “Kylo… if this is a joke, you’re not fucking funny.” 

 

No punchline, no laugh track. Fever-slicked nails clinging to his own thighs, urging him to keep quiet. That, **thing** , it’s not right, he notes hazily, unable to express more than the basest gut urge to freeze. 

 

That animal, he hears it snuffle, a musky scent clogging the inside of his nose with ammonia and metal, thick as blood. Running its dexterous claws across the tree behind him, but he refuses to look for fear. Fear of knowing just what on earth could be in pursuit. Escape, run. Anywhere. No, no. There’s no outrunning it. Him. 

 

“What… what the hell are you?” His voice aches in terror, unable to open his eyes yet. Animals didn’t take kindly to eye contact. He’d be on the trunk, exposed, gutted, engorged coils of flesh spiraling out into frayed ends, should he look. He doesn’t want to die. 

 

Saliva pools near his ear, an unfamiliar maw gaping heatedly. Thirsty, he thinks. A dog panting under duress. Whimpering for a drink of water. Water of life, running through his ears and wrists and throat.

 

“At least… let me look.”

 

‘You’, Kylo purrs, caressing those sensitive guts in Hux's chest, stirring his meat torn away from skin and bone, a perfect butcher, at its simplest, tearing his inner cavity apart ‘Don’t need to know. Go to sleep, Hux. Rest now.'

 

He does.


End file.
